


to recognize

by orphan_account



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person, Short One Shot, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 06:30:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12184749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: he gave up on you this time. // a sasunaru reincarnation/soulmates oneshot or something like that





	to recognize

You don’t always end up together. Sometimes you lose him, sometimes you never meet him, and sometimes you hate him. It's like a bad algorithm for some glitchy computer system. 

His smell sticks in your nose like the smell of your favorite fruit shampoo sticks to your pillows because you always go to bed with wet hair. No one lasted long enough to tell you you shouldn’t do that. You think about him every time you walk that street and feel another’s shoulder bump into yours. He gave up on you this time.

His is just another username online. Your eyes linger on his frog icon but you move on. 

A train crashed somewhere in the countryside. They say it was mechanical failure and you can’t swallow down anything for the rest of the day. Your girlfriend asks you what’s wrong but you don’t know or don’t remember.

He’s on the other side of the world and you have yet to meet him. You won’t in this lifetime. 

You’re in mourning. You’re visiting your mother at the cemetery and your father is stone-faced beside you. Your sister left you behind long ago and you can never quite remember the color of her eyes but you remember her smiling. You come across a stone engraved with a name you don’t recognize, but it makes you want to grind your teeth into your skull. The boy buried there lasted ten years and his name started with an N.

The last time he stepped on that subway was a week ago. This is your first time riding it. 

You’re fighting in a(nother) war and he sleeps two cots down. You don’t ever talk to him but he’s loud enough to be heard over everyone else. A part of you will be glad you weren’t the one to kill him this time, even when his voice rings in your ears for the next decade.

You recognize his face from your elementary school yearbook. In kindergarten, he ate crayons. Something about him makes your skin crawl.

There’s nothing friendly about you but he comes up to you anyway, fingers loose around the stack of pamphlets in his hands. His smile is too wide, too earnest, for someone just trying to make a few bucks on a weekend job. When he extends one out to you, you swipe his hand away. You’re wearing gloves but the phantom memory of a calloused palm scratches at your skin anyway. 

He shoves another pamphlet your way, eyebrows raised. He tells you’ll never get another chance at this. When you glance at them, the papers only speak of some weekend sale at a restaurant. The spike of anxiety that touched your spine cools.

He must have heard the “go fuck yourself” you mumbled under your breath because he nearly shouts it back at you as you walk away. 

Two weeks later you’re invited out to eat with some old college friends and you agree only because you know you need to get out of the house. He’s already there, slurping away at noodles, by the time you arrive. He has the gall to call you rude and you’re not sure why you’re glad you remember his face.

Years later, when you wake up to see his blue eyes squinting back at you, you know. It's like you've always known.

**Author's Note:**

> this was one of the most self-indulgent things i've ever written thanks


End file.
